


Asphalt Fantasy

by Abeleine



Category: Ford v Ferrari (2019)
Genre: Cars, Fighting but sexy, M/M, Oral Sex, Poor car language, Road Head, Shelby pining, implied past relationship, kind of PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abeleine/pseuds/Abeleine
Summary: A whole MOVIE about cars and lifelong companions with an unnameable tension between them and no one’s written a fic with road head? Smh
Relationships: Ken Miles/Carroll Shelby
Comments: 8
Kudos: 96





	Asphalt Fantasy

Shelby doesn’t know how he’s going to start the conversation. He may be blessed with a silver tongue and a healthy dose of midwestern courtesy, but he’s no good at admitting fault—especially when the fault isn’t his to begin with. Their last conversation persists in his mind, the words heavy and bitter in his throat. No amount on a carte blanche—whatever the hell that even means—could scrub their taste from his mouth.

Luck works in funny ways. Ken's already by the curb, hands full from running errands. Carroll wishes he knew how he did it: a beast in the workshop and outside of it a model racer, model husband, model father. A triple crown worth worlds more than a hunk of metal. He’d never figured out the right timing for more than one of those himself. Well timing, and other things...

He’s just glad he doesn’t have to knock on Ken’s door and see the model wife.

Ken spots him instantly, of course. The mechanic's long strides eat up the space between them, his lean body pulled taut like a wire. The flames in his eyes are burning hotter than usual. Shelby knows he’s in for it, but he’s made it out of darker situations with worse-looking people. 

“Funny seein’ you here.” The former racer deflects the lasers Ken’s shooting at him with a lopsided grin. He hopes his voice isn't shaky.

“Not nearly as funny as Ford’s face after those results, I’m assuming.” Ken’s never been one for small talk or pulling punches. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Shelby pushes forward.

“You were right about that gearbox. Every one of them was melted in what was left of the cars.” 

“Drivers should’ve listened better.”

“Should’ve had better drivers.”

Ken flashes a smirk. _Finally._ Shelby can't help but return it. Over five years and he's the only one who can make Ken smile like that. 

“You would’ve been behind that wheel if it was up to me. You _know_ that.” Ken's smile disappears as Shelby says it. 

“What happened to you leading this whole shindig?”

The dig makes Shelby even angrier at Ford and also himself. Ken’s right; he _should’ve_ been in control. The rug was pulled out from under him by an executive who couldn’t tell racing from go-kart driving. If he had five minutes alone with that suit...

But that was no excuse. He should’ve tried harder. Pushing down the emotions, he tries to keep it cool.

“It seems I was wrong about more than I thought.”

“It does seem that way.”

Ken looks marginally less angry, so Shelby takes the leap. 

“Come back to us. I’ve gotten rid of everyone but the alternate. They won’t pull something like that again, and if they do, they’ll have all the hell I can raise to deal with.”

This probably would’ve worked on every hot-tempered racer who didn’t know Carroll like Ken. As is, the mechanic isn’t impressed. 

Shelby tries another angle: “You _know_ you’re the only one who can get that car to first at Lamonte. Don’t you want to show Ford that, too? Stick it to the suits?” 

That _had_ to make him think. Ken Miles was the most stubborn bastard west of Texas, but that’s why they worked so damn well together. Neither of them would give up until they’d reached their goal. Shelby doesn't know what the mechanic wants, but he can tell his offer isn’t it before Ken starts speaking.

“I thought those “suits” were the best men you knew.” 

This time, Shelby can’t hide his anger. Ken knew the Ford merger speech was a load of horse shit; like Shelby, he knew most of doing business was blowing hot air. He just wanted to push Shelby’s buttons and it was infuriating that it was working.

“Come on Ken, what do you want me to say? You want me to apologize? Beg you on my knees?”

“Something of that flavour might be acceptable.”

In spite of his frustration, Ken’s intonation of _flavour_ shoots straight to Shelby’s groin. He’s glad he’s kept his sunglasses on; they’re probably making his blush less obvious.

Watching the man’s reactions, Ken smirks again. Shelby can’t take it anymore. If he’s the only one who can make Ken smile, Ken’s the only one who can make him blow his top.

“I thought I was supposed to be the smooth talker and you were the genius asshole.”

It’s a fast punch, and hardly a punch at that—Ken could’ve broken Carroll’s nose if he wanted to, and knowing that makes the blow all the more humiliating. Rocking back on his heels, Shelby whips off his glasses and hawks a wad of blood onto the asphalt. In contrast to his previously tense form, Ken’s body language is relaxed. The average onlooker would never discern that he was madder than a swarm of wasps.

“Maybe now would be a good time for an apology.” 

Ken hasn’t even put down his groceries, and the brown paper bags do little to shield Ken as Shelby tackles him, acting more like confetti at a finish line as their contents fly through the air in a multitude of crescendos. A cloud of obscenities forms around the men as they grapple, insults whipped at each other’s faces as their hands aim for their guts.

Ken is strong, his body lithe and hardened from years in the shop. He slides out of Shelby’s grasp every time he tries to pin him, weaving himself around the larger man’s body like a snake cornering its prey. However, Shelby’s not going down without a fight—he’s got a barrel chest and a bull’s obstinacy, and what he lacks in dexterity he makes up for in raw strength. Breaking out of every hold Ken tries on him, the fight quickly becomes a vicious stalemate. They always were a compatible duo.

“Getting tired, Shelby?”

After a violent struggle, Ken’s got Carroll pinned in half a triangle hold, panting triumphantly into the former racer’s face. Shelby hardly cares about the choke—most of his blood isn’t in his brain right now anyways. All of his focus is on the sensation of Ken’s stomach rubbing up against his.

Ken’s eyes are wild, elated. They’re turned up at the corners in a grin he only does in the final stretch of the final lap. When first place is in sight. When he’s dominated the competition.

Shelby’s about to deliver a witty retort when Ken cuts him off and pulls him close. They’re face to face, only a sliver of air between Ken’s mouth and his. When the mechanic speaks, their lips just barely brush together.

_“You gonna apologize for real now?”_

If Carroll wasn’t already on his ass, that tone would’ve sent him there. Exhaling sharply, it takes everything in his power to speak without breaking eye contact.

“Y-you know it’d be my pleasure.”

Ken smirks, seemingly satisfied but unrelenting in his grip. At this point the fight is over, but the two are still locked together, Ken pressing Carroll down into the suburbian soil. Leaning even closer, Shelby shudders as the mechanic’s lips ghost over his ear.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Now finished, Ken hauls off and begins gathering groceries like nothing happened. Shelby can hardly believe _anything_ happened. Had air loss caused him to create his wildest fantasy before he passed out? Was he in a coma right now? But the knowing wink Ken gives him after he greets his wife is unmistakable.

Shelby hardly notices Ken’s wife asking him for a drink.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Shelby picks Ken up later that night, after a change of clothes and long, hot shower. They hardly speak on their way to the test track, anticipation hanging heavy between them.

Ken’s still pissed, Shelby can tell that much. But there’s something _else_ beneath it, the same something in Ken’s words from before. Shelby swallows over the lump in his throat and tries not to think too hard about it. If he runs them off the road for daydreaming about Ken’s mouth on his neck, his ghost will never forgive him.

Thankfully, they reach the test track with minor issue. The sight of the sleek auto body shells illuminated by the low light of the repurposed airport hangar is enough to break the tension for at least a moment. Ken is always delighted by a good car. Running his hands over the soon-to-be-driven test model, Ken turns to Shelby once again.

“We’re alone?” 

Shelby nods. “Just us tonight. And all you from now on. That prototype might as well have your name on the dashboard.”

The mechanic grins.

“Perfect.”

Shelby barely has time to get Ken into a helmet before he takes off like lighting on a live wire, spinning tires stripping the paint from the road. He’s a man possessed; a demon with a stick shift. The mechanic peels out five laps in what feels like seconds. It's greater than magic—even time bends to the nose of his bumper.

As the car pulls into the hangar, Ken's already rattling off hairline adjustments and a redesign for the rear axel before the door's all the way open, not missing a beat as he downs some water and prepares for the next test.

Shelby’s hand flies over his notepad, taking half-legible notes with just enough detail for Ken to understand later. As he checks the tires for drag, a hand comes down on his shoulder.

“Take the next laps with me.”

Confused, Shelby looks up at Ken, who’s staring down at him expectantly.

“Twice the weight? It’ll throw off the results. You don’t need to waste time; you’re not paid by the hour.”

Ken snorts. There’s a look in his eye that makes Shelby’s stomach jump.

“You wish you weighed as much as me.” The tip of the mechanic’s shoe digs into Shelby’s stomach before he can suck in his gut.

“Besides, you owe me an apology, remember?”

 _Oh_. Shelby understands now. His stomach jumps again at the reality of it: he’s alone with _Ken Miles_ , and for the first time it seems like the man wants the same thing as he does. He doesn’t want to think of how many times he’s dreamt of this. Too nervous to speak, he nods and gets into the passenger seat.

Ken starts the car at a meandering pace, keeping the gear low and swapping between up-and-downshifts to maintain a consistent RPM. The satisfaction in his expression is evident. He’s at his happiest in the shop or on the road. Shelby looks out the window at the tarmac before he gets lost in the long angles of his face. However, he can’t keep himself from Ken for too long. It becomes a game of sorts; shifting between the handsome man and the bluelit landscape before he's overwhelmed by either.

After they’ve made some distance from the hangar, Ken’s voice penetrates the silence.

“Well?”

The question breaks Shelby’s dual concentration. Bringing his gaze back to the mechanic, he watches as Ken’s eyes flick over Shelby before settling the crotch of his own pants. Shelby’s gaze follows his, hungrily eyeing the gentle bulge in his Levi’s.

“Aren’t you going to give me an apology?”

There is a want in Ken’s voice that Shelby has only heard twice: in his dreams, and earlier that day. He doesn’t even try to hide how he bites his lip.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve pushed harder for you.”

Ken’s eyes glint darkly in the moonlight. Shelby’s pinned in place by the gaze alone.

“Not good enough.” The mechanic looks equally hungry; the aura emanating from him so strong it almost makes Shelby thankful they’re separated by the stick shift.

“Maybe you can tell me how you want it first? So I make sure it’s good.” Shelby works hard to keep the stutter from his voice.

Carroll’s expecting Ken’s devious smirk, but he’s caught off guard when the car revs up, jumping up to 3000RPM in less than a quarter of a minute. He looks at Ken, confused, and sees the mechanic rubbing his crotch with one hand while he guides the wheel with the other. Ken’s palm goes over the worn denim once, twice, and the man lets out a groan as he thumbs down the zipper, his erection springing out of his pants already wet with precum. Only then does he look back at Shelby, who’s completely transfixed on the image before him.

“I want you to apologize with this.”

He doesn’t need to say it twice. Shelby all but lunges over the shift stick to get his mouth over Ken’s cock, running his tongue up the shaft and around the head before plunging it down his throat. Hearing Ken moan, he keeps going until his nose is pressed into Ken’s lap. The taste is even better than he’s expecting—hot and salty, every pulse of Ken's cock pouring more precum onto his tongue.

Carroll stays like that as long as he can hold it: Ken’s cock lodged deep in his warm, wet throat, every jostle of the car sliding it against his walls. His own erection tents the front of his pants, and he rubs himself through them as he begins bobbing up and down.

“Fuuuck Shelby,” the mechanic hisses, running a hand through the other man’s hair.

“You have such a way with words.”

Glowing from the praise, Shelby sets a deep, steady pace, fucking Ken as fast as his throat will allow. He couldn’t give a damn about the stick shift digging into his stomach or the tears at the corners of his eyes. All that matters is the sounds Ken’s making as he drags his nails down the back of his neck.

The car hasn’t stopped accelerating, and Ken has to jerk the wheel to keep them on the asphalt. Thrown off by the sudden swerve, Shelby’s jerked away and Ken is left with his tongue swirling around the head of his member. When Shelby tries to use the change in position to get a full breath of air, a firm hand on his neck stops his movement.

“Oh no. You’re not done yet.” Around Ken’s cock, Shelby moans. He should’ve known the mechanic wouldn’t let him off easy.

Fisting his hand in Shelby’s hair, Ken holds him in place as he begins thrusting up into his mouth, relishing the muffled sounds of the other man’s groans. Shelby’s throat constricts around Ken’s cock every time he gags, and it takes all of Ken’s self control not to come at the sensation. A streak of fire runs up the mechanic’s thigh—Shelby’s nails are digging into him, begging for mercy. Ken strokes Shelby’s hair but doesn’t let up on him or the gas.

“Don’t worry. I’ve almost forgiven you.”

Shelby chokes again but doesn’t try to move away. A click of the stick shift, and the engine roars as Ken kicks it up to sixth gear, the whole frame rattling from the power of the car leaping forward. They’re barely on the ground and Shelby’s barely giving Ken a blowjob. The mechanic is just fucking his throat at this point, holding Shelby’s mouth in place so his lips meet Ken’s lap with every thrust.

Everything in Shelby burns: his neck, his throat, even his legs from the awkward position. But Ken’s close; he can feel it. His cock’s at a near-constant throb in his throat, every hot pulse of it making Shelby moan. He’s close, too, pressure building in his groin as he rubs his hand faster and faster over his clothed erection.

“Oh god, _Carroll_ ,” He can barely hear Ken over the roar of the engine, but he knows what that tone means. Using the last of his strength, the former racer twists so he’s looking up at Ken. The angle makes his gaze doe-eyed and innocent, like he’s oblivious to the fact that he’s being used like a toy. Like the only thing he cares about is seeing Ken’s face twisted up in pleasurable agony. Once Ken looks down at him and Shelby sees the surprise, hunger, and pure arousal run over his face, the former racer groans and cums.

Ken follows him shortly after, the deep timbre of Shelby’s voice vibrating around his cock enough to send him over the edge. He throws his head back as he buries his cock to the hilt in Shelby, grinding against the other man’s lips so every spurt of cum goes straight down his throat. Shelby swallows it all; he’s always been good with his mouth. Ken holds him there for a few more moments, basking in the afterglow, before relenting his grip, letting Shelby up off his softening cock.

Coughing and wiping his mouth, Shelby tries to act casual as he adjusts himself. The car had slowed a bit, thankfully. Ken must have taken his foot off the gas when he came. He rubs at the wet spot that’s formed on the front of his jeans before disregarding it. It’s not like he had to worry about anyone seeing. As Ken does up his own pants, Shelby breaks the silence.

“We’re good, then?”

“We were always good. I knew you were in my corner.” The words make Shelby’s heart soar.

“That’s all I wanted.” Both men are smiling, their faces soft in the moonlight. Carroll always thought this was when Ken looked his handsomest; at the end of a day’s work when he was completely satisfied.

He wishes he could stare at that face all night, that this didn’t have to end once they pulled back into the hanger. But it wasn’t like Ken could up and leave his family. And they both knew that it wasn’t a good time for people like them. _To go to sleep with Ken Miles and wake up to him in the morning…_ Shelby pushes the thoughts aside. It’s a fool’s errand to compete in a race you’re sure to lose, but he’s always been a bit of a dreamer.

“You wanted me to know that or to be in my corner?” Ken brings him back to reality as always.

“Don’t turn my words on me when I’m trying to be genuine.”

It’s a poor response by Shelby’s standards, but it doesn’t matter. They both know the answer anyways.


End file.
